Montana
by kinseyjo
Summary: I should have known it wouldn’t be that easy.  That she wouldn’t be that easy.  And really, as much as it pains me to admit, she’s right to push me away.  Sex isn’t going to solve our problems.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Here it is! Montana! The long awaited prequel! I'm setting this right around the time of Florida and Annihilated. Each chapter will be a different POV, but the POV will remain the same for the whole chapter. I'll tell you in the a/n at the beginning of each chapter, K? Enjoy! R&R. XO, KJ

POV: Liv

Dedication: Sam. Whom I just may relinquish my smut crown to… Naaaah. We'll share. Thanks for helping my muse find her way home girl!! XO!

Disclaimer: Only my overactive imagination belongs to me.

--

I'm trying so hard to concentrate on the pile of paperwork my boss assigned me, but I can't. I keep looking up at my partner and daydreaming. Like a thirteen-year-old. Only my daydreams? Not what I'd call PG-13. I think an NC-17 rating would be a stretch. More like XXX. This time, when I look up at him, instead of looking right back down at my paperwork, my mind wanders a little. He's relaxed back in his chair, his legs crossed at the ankle, his grey cross-trainers balanced on the edge of his desk. What would he do? What would Elliot Stabler do if I got up, walked over to him, straddled his lap and kissed the living daylights out of him? Would he awkwardly stare at me? Hell no, this is my fantasy. He'd kiss me back. He'd kiss me back, pull my sweater off over my head and run his tongue over my skin. He'd flick open the front clasp of my bra and take my breasts in his hands. He'd kiss them, licking through the valley in between. He'd groan his appreciation and tell me how good I smelled. What about when I touched him? If I reached between our bodies and grabbed hold of him like I'd thought about doing a million times but never had the guts to do? What if I unzipped his pants? What if I was wearing a skirt? A skirt and no panties? What if we –

Elliot clears his throat and it snaps my mind back to my mountain of manilla folders. My partner and I both used some unethical methods to get confessions in the past couple weeks and now? Ass duty. Too much of which makes for an over-charged Detective Benson and an over-active imagination.

"You two. My office, now." Cragen commands, sticking his head out of his office.

Great. In trouble again. After the stunts we've both pulled the last couple weeks, I can't say I'm incredibly surprised.

My partner and I both rise from our positions across from each other at our desks and head to our boss's office. Elliot enters first, with me right behind him. I glance over to the corner and see Dana Lewis, aka Star Morrison, my old boss at the FBI.

"Sit," Cragen commands.

"Look, boss," Elliot begins.

"Elliot? Shut. Up." Cragen glares at Elliot as he issues the command.

He shuts his mouth and sits down in one of the chairs facing Don's desk. I take the other and Captain Cragen crosses the room to the door and shuts it.

"You two," he begins. He sighs heavily. "I'm not sure what in the hell has gotten into you two the past few weeks, but I'm done dealing with it. You need some time away from this unit, and the FBI has very generously offered to take you off my hands for awhile."

I glance up at Dana and see a smirk tugging at the corners of her mouth.

"Am I going back to Oregon?" I ask.

"Not exactly," she says. "I'm sending you to Montana."

"What about me?" Elliot asks.

"You're going with her," Cragen says. I look to Dana for clarification.

"We've got a problem, obviously. Three weeks ago, Jake Jennings was kidnapped from FAO Schwartz. We've managed to track the kidnapper to a tiny town in Montana, but that's where the trail runs cold. It's a small ranching and farming community that does a booming tourism business in the summer. During the off-season, it's got a population around two hundred people. But, the kid seems to have disappeared into thin air. It's been a mystery for some of our top agents, and when Don contacted me about his, um, problem with the two of you, I said I'd take you."

"So that's how this works? We piss you off and you farm us out to the feds?" Elliot asks.

"No, Elliot. You both could have killed a suspect. _That's _why I'm farming you out to the feds. And, Jake was kidnapped in your jurisdiction, Detective."

"And it's not going to be that long, Detective," Dana informs him. "The sooner you help us find Jake, the sooner you get to come home."

"And provided you _don't_ actually kill anyone while you're gone," Captain Cragen pauses and gives us both a pointed look. "Your jobs will still be here when you get back."

Elliot nods, and I can tell he's less than thrilled with the situation, judging by the butane flames in his eyes. "When do we go?" he asks tersely.

"Tonight," Don responds.

"Anything else?" I ask.

"Get packed," Dana says with a soft smile. "I'll brief you on the full case when you get out to Jackson." Elliot glares at her as he stands and heads for the door. I follow him out, my ears perking up at the two of them talking in Don's office.

"Don't worry, Don. This will help."

"I don't know, Dana. You sure this is going to work?"

"Positive. They'll be right as rain in no time."

_What the hell?_ I wonder, wandering back to my desk.

"What happened?" Fin asks.

"We're getting farmed out to the feds," Elliot snaps, perching on the edge of his desk.

"Could be worse," John points out.

Elliot opens his mouth to retort, but I put my hand on his shoulder to stop him. "We know," I say.

"When do you guys leave?"

"Tonight," Elliot says.

"We better get packed," I say, handing Elliot his leather jacket.

--

"Jesus Christ, Liv. Are you _sure_ the kitchen sink wouldn't fit in one of these bags?" Elliot bitches.

"Okay. Family meeting," I command.

"What?" he asks sulkily.

"Elliot, we can hate this, or we can make due. But I will not listen to you be all," I gesture up and down and around with my hand. "_Captain Brooding Intensity _for however long we're stuck in the sticks. I'll kill you first."

"Oh yeah?" he snaps. "Get me handcuffed to a table, pull the chair out from under me and kick the crap out of me?" he bites. My mind floods with images of Elliot being handcuffed, and it sure as hell isn't a table he's cuffed to. In any of them.

"If. You're. Lucky." I threaten. He opens his mouth to say something, but wisely closes it again.

"Smart man," I commend him. "Now would you pretty please help me get this stuff out to the Navigator?" I ask with a fake saccharine sweetness in my voice.

"How long are we doing this?" he mutters to my retreating back.

"I HEARD THAT."

"Sorry," he repeats.

_Trust me, buddy, you don't want to be doing this any more than I do. My last wish is to be stuck in closed quarters with you twenty-four hours a day. I think I might die of sexual frustration._

_--_

A/N: Short, I know. But were you surprised to see it?! I have some ideas now that Miss Muse is back!! Let me know what you thought! XO, Kinsey


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Look at that response! I knew you guys were excited for this story, but dang! And smut right off the bat – sorta, anyway! I must love you guys. R&R this one for me! XO, KJ

POV: Elliot – and like Jess says, sometimes I wonder just how Catholic that boy really is!

Disclaimer: Only my overactive imagination belongs to me.

--

I hate flying. My whole life has been in New York City, and to be quite honest, I can't imagine life anywhere else. My siblings, however, didn't feel the same way. All four of them hot-footed it out of the NY as soon as they could. My brother Rick and his wife Amber are out in Sacramento. Mike and Julie live in Daytona Beach. Shawn and Kimberly are in Dallas, and my baby sister Maggie and her husband John live in Fort Collins, Colorado, a suburb of Denver. Obviously, we logged a lot of travel time around the holidays when my kids were little.

My kids are _not_ good travelers. When we went out to Dallas for Shawn and Kimmy's wedding (my brother married a Texas debutante), Maureen was just over a year and she puked. The entire trip. My ex-wife is a sympathy puker, so needless to say it wasn't pretty. Once we figured out that Mo gets motion sickness, we were able to dope her up on Dramamine and she'd sleep. Which kept her from puking. Which kept Kathy from puking. Which made for better trips for me. Until Kathleen came along. My middle daughter is quite possibly the most bored person I've ever met. She is the queen of "are we there yet?" When she was about four, we went to Sacramento for my sister-in-law's graduation from medical school. Mo was sleeping peacefully, Kathy was reading a Cosmo and listening to her walkman, and I was kicked back with my walkman trying to sleep. I had thought Katie was sleeping. Until I heard her.

"Daddy," she whispered. I feigned sleep. "Daddy," she said again. I still feigned sleep. "Daddy," this time a little louder. Thinking maybe she'd give up after three tries, I kept my eyes closed. No such luck.

"DADDYDADDYDADDYDADDYDADDYDADDY!" she screeched. Anyone who'd been asleep on flight 9062 to Sacramento no longer had that convenience. My eyes shot open and I clapped my hand over her mouth to silence her.

"Katie, what is it?" I asked. Kathy sat on the edge of her seat, looking anxiously around at all the people staring at us. Mo snored lightly, her face plastered against the window.

"Um bwah," she said, her voice muffled behind my hand.

"What?" I asked.

"Um bwah," she repeated.

"What did she say?" I asked my wife.

"Move your hand, El," she suggested. I dropped my hand from my daughter's mouth and looked at her expectantly.

"I'm bored," she said. "Where are we?"

I glanced at my watch and did some quick math. "Probably somewhere over Oklahoma," I answered.

"Are we to Uncle Rick and Aunt Amber's yet?"

"No, not yet honey. Why don't you try to go to sleep?" Kathy suggested.

"I'm not sleepy," Katie replied matter-of-factly. I, however, was exhausted. I'd just worked a night shift, getting off at 3 am and our flight left at six. That was before 9/11, but we'd still been at the airport at five. I was like night of the living dead.

"Please try to sleep, honey," Kathy pleaded. "Or do you want to look at a book?" she asked.

"No. No book. Daddy tell me a story," she asked, just as I had been about to fall back to sleep. I sighed and scrubbed a hand over my face as I tried to think up a story to tell.

When Dickie and Liz came along, we had two pukers and two that were perpetually bored. With Maureen and Liz doped and sleeping, we could entertain Dickie and Katie long enough to get to wherever we were going. Still, I dreaded every time we had to leave the ground.

Today, though, looking at the beautiful face of my partner, her eyes closed deep in a dream, I am beginning to rethink my position on flying. As much as I don't want to get stuck undercover, let alone farmed out to the feds, I'm happy it's with Liv. She's the greatest partner I've ever had. Always has my back, always gives me her honest opinion on things, even when she knows it's not what I want to hear.

There's another reason I'm glad Liv is going to be with me. Maybe, if we're thousands of miles away from home, I'll be able to do it.

I'll be able to nut up and tell her.

How much she means to me.

How much she's always meant to me.

How much I love her.

--

A/N: I know this is another short one, but I wanted to update for you guys. I promise I'll try to make them longer, but sometimes I just find a good spot to stop! What do you want to know? Ask me questions and I'll try to answer them in the story! XO, Kinsey


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: Okay, I get it – you hate short chapters! LOL! I'll try to work on that! But let me ask you this? Would you like shorter chapters and more updates or longer chapters and fewer updates? Think about it… okay – in "Remember," I said that Elliot and Liv's undercover names were Jake and Katie, but I went back to their undercover names – Liv's from that one episode about anthrax (Rachel), and Elliot's from "Risk" (Greg Elliot). Follow? R&R! XO, Kinsey

POV: Liv

Disclaimer: Only my overactive imagination belongs to me!

--

I wake up with a start, feeling like someone is watching me. I glance over at Elliot and he's engrossed in an issue of Cosmo he must have gotten out of my bag.

"Anything interesting?" I ask dryly.

"It fell out when you kicked your bag in your sleep," he explains sheepishly, closing the magazine and handing it back to me. I glance quickly over the cover to see which one he had been reading. I was relieved to find it was just the normal Cosmo fare – embarrassing stories, hot new hairstyles, "Are You Accidentally Making Yourself MORE Tired?" and Erotic Sex: Seven Boundary Pushing Moves All Men Secretly Crave (And You'll Get Off On Too). Oh Christ. Oh well, nothing to do about it now.

"Where are we?" I ask groggily.

"You sound like Katie," he says with the same smile that's usually on his face when he's talking about one of his four kids. "I think we're probably somewhere over Eastern Montana. We should be in," he pulls a copy of our itinerary out of his inside jacket pocket, "Missowla in about half an hour," he says.

I nod and smile. "I think it's Missoola," I suggest.

"Well, whatever, all I know is it's too damn far from New York," he grumbles.

"What did I say about your crabby attitude?" I ask.

He looks at me out of the corner of his eye. "Yeah yeah."

"I _will_ kill you, you understand that, right?" I say, half teasing half serious.

He has the audacity to roll his eyes at me. "Somehow, I doubt it," he says smugly.

I wonder for a split-second what that smug grin means before answering. "Maybe you should sleep with one eye open just in case," I threaten. He rolls his eyes again as the pilot announces our descent into Missoula Montana. I cram my magazine back into my carry-on and run a hand through my tangled curls. "What?" I ask suspiciously, catching Elliot staring at me.

"Nothing," he smiles. I smile back, partly in self-consciousness, partly because his grin is so infectious. When he genuinely smiles, my heart beats a little faster. "I'm glad you let your hair grow," he blurts, blushing at his spontaneous admission.

"Thanks," I smile gently, feeling like a thirteen-year-old girl who's crush has finally graduated from throwing rocks to giving compliments. My stomach jumps a little and I'm not sure if it's from the plane heading through the clouds to the runway or from the look Elliot is giving me. I look away, slightly embarrassed, and tighten my seat belt, staring out the window as the beautiful Rocky Mountains get closer.

The little puddle jumper plane taps down on the runway and taxis in to the terminal. The captain gives a few more instructions, thanks us for flying, and lets us start deplaning.

"Got everything?" Elliot asks.

"Yes, Dad, my magazine is in my bag with my barbies and Dickie's game boy," I tease sarcastically.

"Ha ha."

"Just trying to lighten the mood, Grumpy Bear," I grin. As we're making our way down the aisle, I bite my lip in an attempt not to smile at how Elliot's palm is resting gently at the small of my back.

When we get to the exit, the flight attendant gives us a bright smile. "Thank you! I hope you and your wife enjoy Big Sky Country."

Just as I was about to open my mouth to correct her, Elliot wrapped an arm around my shoulders and hugged me to him. "Thanks," he pauses and looks at her nametag, "Samantha. We will," he says. I roll my eyes internally as he gives her a wink and she blushes. Lord. If I can read it this well when he's laying on the charm with other women, how come I still get weak-kneed when he looks at me? Olivia Benson does _not_ get weak-kneed.

"What was that about?" I ask.

"We're in Montana, _Rachel_," he reminds me, using my undercover name and drawing me back to the fact that we're married.

"You're right, _Greg,_" I roll my eyes, partially at him and partially at myself. This undercover operation is _not _going to go well if I can't even keep my identity straight when he's around. "Slipped my mind." As we wander across the tarmac to the airport, Elliot laces his fingers through mine and squeezes my hand gently. I remind myself that it's just so we look as married as we are supposed to be, despite the zing of electricity it sends through my body. I pull my cell phone out of my bag and cruise quickly through the phone book until I get to Dana's cell phone number. I press send and wait.

"Lewis," she answers.

"Hey Dana, it's Rachel Elliot," I say.

"Hey, Rachel," she replies easily. "Did you and Greg have a safe flight?" she asks.

"We did. Greg drove me nuts the last half hour, but when doesn't he?" I tease.

Dana laughs at how easily I slide into my role as Elliot's wife. "Well I'm parked right out front in a black Chevy Tahoe. I'm in front of Gate B," she says. "Think you can find it?" she asks sarcastically.

"I think we can manage," I roll my eyes and shake my head at Elliot. "We'll be there in a second," I reply, flipping my phone shut. I turn to Elliot who's gathered up our bags in the time I've been talking to Dana.

"Ready?" I ask.

"Let's go, Wife," he smiles only about the third real smile I've seen since we left New York. "Oh, that reminds me," he stops just short of the terminal door and digs in the pocket of his tight Levi's.

_I love those pants._ I think to myself. He pulls his hand back out and holds a diamond and silver band between his thumb and forefinger.

"Rachel Elliot, will you marry me?" he teases. I put my hand over my heart, as if I can stop it from racing right out of my chest, and fight the tears threatening. _This is not a real proposal, Liv. He said Rachel Elliot, not Olivia Benson. You have another band for him in your makeup bag._

"Of course," I grin stupidly, holding out my hand. "I have yours in my makeup bag," I say softly.

"One of the seventy pieces of Coach luggage you hauled along?" he teases, sliding the ring on my finger. He kisses the band gently, and I tear up again at the tender gesture. I'm doing my best to tamp them back down when I spot Dana.

"There's Dana," I point to the black Tahoe parked where she'd described. Elliot laces our fingers together again, trying to keep up the appearance of being married.

_If only it were real._

I walk up to Dana and pull her into a hug. "Good to see you, Miz Benson," she whispers.

"Good to see you too," I reply.

"Starr," Elliot greets her suspiciously. They have a respectful, yet playful relationship. Elliot is always accusing Dana of being the reason he ends up in the hospital whenever she's around.

"Greg," she replies, both of them using each other's undercover aliases.

"Let me get the Coach store loaded up here," he says, sarcastically, pulling open the back hatch to the SUV.

When we finally get everything loaded up and are on our way to Jackson, Montana, I turn on the reading light and flip through the Cosmo. Turning to the article about the seven deadly positions, I find what had my partner so smug. I'd forgotten I'd written in the margins.

Right next to a particularly interesting position, I'd written _El??? _ Right below it in his blocky print were the words _It'd__ be my pleasure._

Oh crap.

--

A/N: teeny smutness! I PROMISE it'll get better. I know this one was pretty short too, but hey – two updates in two days! And this one is almost twice as long as chapter two!! We've got a lot of the boring jive out of the way… keep reading! XO, Kinsey J


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: Another awesome response for chapter three! Thank you guys! Okay, this one is a little dirty… not a lot but a little! R&R XO, Kinsey

Dedication: My bitches! I found a banner for my myspace that made me think of you guys – it says "I hate bitches, but I love mine!" Aw!

POV: Elliot

Disclaimer: Only my overactive imagination is mine!

--

The reading light shining from the front seat pulls me from my haphazard mp3 scrolling. I glance over the seat and see Olivia leafing through the Cosmo magazine I'd read on the plane. I look a little closer in an attempt to tell which article she's reading and if she's spotted my answer to her hastily scrawled question. I couldn't help but get turned on on the plane when I'd seen it. Right next to an article about erotic sex, specifically next to a passage about blindfolding a guy with his own tie and unbuttoning his shirt from behind him, she'd scrawled _El _(her nickname for me), and three question marks. When I was sure she was sleeping on the plane I pulled a pen out of my pocket and wrote underneath it. _It'd be my pleasure._ And it would. Not only that, but I'd make damn sure it was her pleasure too.

Now in Starr's Tahoe on our way out to our temporary home in Jackson, Montana, I pull the same pen from my pocket and dangle it over Liv's shoulder. "Need to make more notes?" I ask.

"I hate you," she responds venomously, but I know she doesn't. If her notes in the margins of her magazine don't tell me so, the teasing smile I can hear in her voice certainly does.

"You sure?" I ask and she quickly snatches the pen out of my hand. I'm looking over her shoulder as she's paging through the magazine, the pen clenched tightly in her left hand. She glances over her shoulder and narrows her eyes at me.

"Do you mind?" she asks.

"Not at all," I grin.

"Okay, you two. Knock it off or I'm going to tie your tails together and throw you over the clothesline," Starr warns. Olivia turns around and we look at each other, both trying not to burst out laughing. "That's better," Starr smiles softly at the moment of silence.

"Starr's southern-isms," I mutter, eliciting a giggle from Olivia. I love her laugh. The random burst of giggles in the squad room when I make a joke. The infectious guffaw when she's watching Casey sing karaoke, the embarrassed chuckle when Melinda and Alex drag her up on stage to sing Aretha Franklin's "Respect." I think I might be as much in love with her laugh as I am any other part of her. I reach my hand around her on the right side where Starr can't see and squeeze her side gently, tripping my fingertips lightly over the spot where her skin is exposed over her low-rise jeans. She sucks in a breath and I smile.

"You okay, Liv?" Starr asks.

"Fine," she says. She reaches down to where my hand is still trailing over her skin. She takes my fingers and squeezes them in a death grip, effectively getting me to let go. I wince at her tight squeeze even though it doesn't really hurt.

The next thing I know, Starr is slowing down and turning off the highway onto another dark two-lane road.

"Are we there _yet_?" I ask.

"Now who sounds like Katie?" Liv teases.

"Well Jesus Christ, where is this town?" I grumble. "Are we going undercover as the fucking Unabomber?" Starr snorted a laugh and Liv cleared her throat.

"I meant what I said about killing you," she reminded me. "Only now you know that I'd do it very slowly and torturously," she says, and with that throaty warning, I'm hard as a rock. I sit back in my seat and try to talk my erection down by thinking baseball stats, which usually works for me. This time I'm halfway through the Yankees roster for the last forty years and I'm still feeling the pain. I put my headphones back on and hit the shuffle on my mp3 player. The first song that starts playing is Buckcherry's "Crazybitch," which only serves to remind me of two things: one, that I need to figure out how to run this thing and not just let my kids do it; and two, that I need to talk to my fifteen-year-old son about his music choices.

I flip my seat back and grab a blanket out of Liv's carryon to cover my lap. It's a pretty thin blanket, so it doesn't do much, not to mention the fact that it smells like her perfume, so I'm even worse off than when I started. I shove the blanket back in her bag and hit the shuffle again. Kenny Chesney's voice comes on and I pray for one of Mo's favorite drinking songs. Instead, I'm greeted with "Something Sexy About the Rain," and my brain automatically goes to an image of Liv with one of my white dress shirts plastered to her skin and her hair in a wet, tangled mess around her face – an image I'd kill to see in person, if this erection doesn't kill me first. I roll down the window, hoping cold mountain air will work the same as a cold shower.

"Elliot, what are you doing?" Liv asks.

"Just trying to check out the scenery," I lie.

"There's not much out here in the dark, Elliot," Starr reminds me.

"And I'm getting cold," Liv bitches. The cool air has done the trick so I roll the window back up to appease them.

"Besides," Starr says, turning off the highway into a long, gravel driveway, "We're here."

--

A/N: I found a good stopping point, which makes this another short one, I know. But I'm exhausted, it's after 1am, and I have to go send Sam some threatening mail about her not updating. Ciao Bellas! R&R XO Kinsey


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: Four chapters and 83 reviews already! That's like twenty reviews per chapter! You guys rock my socks! On with chapter five – let's try to get twenty for this one too! And by the way, if you're just putting this on alerts and not reviewing, I understand. I do the same thing. But hey, once you decide if you like it or not, let me know!! R&R XO, Kinsey

POV: Liv

Disclaimer: Only my overactive imagination is mine!

--

Glancing down at my watch I notice it's nearly one am, which makes it three at home. Jesus, I'm tired. I sling my carryon bag over my shoulder and head for the front door of the house where we'll be living for however long it takes us to make the bust and get the hell out of Dodge. Or Jackson as it was.

It occurs to me to be nervous that the neighbors will be suspicious of our late-night arrival and our cover will be blown, but then I look around at the vast emptiness of the Bitterroot Valley and notice something: we don't _have_ any neighbors.

Elliot notices too, and he pipes up annoyingly, "We _are_ undercover as the Unabomber, aren't we?"

"Would you _hush_?!" Dana asks. 'Hush' is Starr-speak for 'shut-the-fuck-up-before-I-slap-you.' "The Unabomber was holed up in a cabin in Lincoln, which is a few _hundred_ miles from here."

Elliot gets the picture and closes his mouth obediently. "Now. Let me show y'all the house," Dana says enthusiastically, like our own personal real estate agent.

"Ugh. Just show me where I'm sleeping. I'll see the rest tomorrow," I beg, exhaustion about ready to take me down and have its way with me right here on the lawn.

"Ditto," Elliot responds.

"Oh, fine," Dana pouts. "But y'all are just gonna love this house. The bank foreclosed on it and we bought it at a bargain basement price," she gushes. "I just love it when people can't make their mortgage payments."

"I'm sure it's lovely, D. But I'm. Exhausted," I whine.

"Oh, now, Liv, you're starting to sound like this one," she hikes a thumb over her shoulder in Elliot's direction.

"I know. And I'm sorry. Because fuck if he isn't annoying. But I really am tired."

"Okay, okay," Dana holds up her hands in a defensive stance. "I'll leave you be. I'll be back in the mornin' though – 8am."

"Starr. Let us sleep in. Just a little. Please?" Elliot begs.

"Fine. 10am. Final offer. Take it or leave it."

"We'll take it," I say, heading for the front door of the house.

"Miz Benson. You might need these," Dana says, tossing a set of keys to me. In my tired frame of mind I just stare as they ping off the door.

"Thanks," I say, bending down to pick them up. I slide one in the lock and it turns easily. In all fairness, this house does look pretty nice.

"Bedrooms are upstairs," Dana mentions.

"Thanks. Night," Elliot says, walking past her, up the steps, and past me into the house. I shake my head and shut the door behind me, looking out the window to see Dana driving back down the gravel driveway.

"I get the master," I say, trudging up the stairs.

"Bullshit. What makes you think that?"

"I'm the girl, fucker. Get out of my room," I point toward the door as I dump my stuff on the bed.

"We could share," Elliot suggests helpfully.

"You could drop dead."

"C'mon, Liv. We could try that thing you wanted."

"I'm sure it's not going to be the first time you've heard this, so I'm not worried about telling you now: Not tonight, Elliot. I'm tired."

He huffs petulantly and turns on his heel, heading out the door. I can't help but smile as I shake my head at his silliness. A little part of me wouldn't mind sharing with him, but we aren't going to be very effective detectives if we're spending all our time tangled in the sheets. What am I even _thinking_? Obviously this exhaustion is eating my brain, or at least the rational thought part. It's pretty easy for me to tell when I'm overtired. The fantasies about my partner start to flow fast and furious when I'm so tired I can't think. That was when I'd made the note in the Cosmo that was going to get held over my head for the rest of my natural life. Apparently, it's not something Elliot would be opposed to, however. I really don't want to make that leap though. We've been walking such a fine line with our partnership and our friendship ever since I got back from Oregon. Really, ever since the Gitano case last spring. Things have just been so screwed up. Sex isn't going to fix it.

I stripped quickly out of my jeans and sweater, glancing at myself in the mirror on the back of the bedroom door. God you need to get laid, Benson. Badly. My face is flushed, my breasts are heaving, I look like one of the girls on the front of those trashy romance novels that Mo and Katie are constantly reading. Their dad calls the books bodice-rippers. I could go for some bodice ripping right now. God, Liv. Get a fucking grip, sister. I shove my fingers through my tangled hair and collapse back on the bed, barely remembering to flip the light off before my body bounced onto the king-sized mattress.

"Hey, Liv?" Elliot says, poking his head in the room.

I scramble up, searching for something to cover myself with. Finding nothing I stare him down and snap, "What?"

"I, uh, I, forgot," he said lamely.

I put my hands on my hips and raise an eyebrow at him. "You weren't just coming in here hoping to see me like this?" I ask and he blushes deeply. Uh-huh. That's what I thought.

"Of course not," he stammers.

"You sure?" I ask, sauntering toward him, the whole time asking myself what the hell I'm doing. "Not even hoping for a little… peek?" I wonder, standing directly in front of him. If I move any closer we'll be breathing the same air.

"Well…" he trails off, brushing his fingers over my hip, palming the flesh lightly.

"That's what I thought," I grin as he pulls me to him and slides his thigh between my legs. I look up at him expectantly and lick my bottom lip as his mouth comes down to mine. His lips touch mine and it's like the sweetest candy and the hottest spice all at the same time. I will forever compare his kisses to chocolate dipped jalapenos. We kiss deeply for what feels like hours and seconds all at the same time. All of a sudden, the phone on the nightstand goes off and we rip apart.

"H-he-hello?" I ask, snatching it up.

"Hey darlin' it's just me. Just makin' sure y'all got settled in okay," Dana asks.

"Fine. Thanks, Dana. We'll see you in the morning okay?"

"You okay, Liv? Sound like you just lost a race with a jackrabbit," Starr questions.

"I'm fine, Dana. G'night."

"Night. See you in the morning."

I push the talk button on the phone and drop it to the bed, placing a hand over my heart hoping to steady it's powerful staccato.

"Where were we?" Elliot asks, pulling me back to him.

"I, uh, I'm sorry, El. I can't."

He looks disappointed, but nods. "The job."

"I just think we need to keep it professional while we're out here. We're all alone, so we have to be able to hold ourselves accountable, Elliot. You know what I'm saying is true."

"I know," he offers me a sad smile. "Doesn't mean I have to like it."

I smile back. "Me neither. As you know," I blush, referring to the notes I'd made in my magazine.

"Hey," he shrugs and shoves his hands in his pockets. "Don't worry about it. I'm flattered."

I smile and blush. "Thanks for not holding it against me."

He nods and turns to leave, but stops at the door. "Hey Liv?" he asks.

I turn to face him from where I'd been turning down the sheets on the bed. "Yeah?"

"If you change your mind," he points at the Cosmo, laying on the nightstand, open to the Erotic Sex article. "I meant what I wrote," he winks and heads back down the hall.

My hand automatically goes to my chest, again as if I can stop my heart from racing out of my ribcage. I shake my head, in a vain attempt to shake the image loose. Sliding between the sheets, I shut my eyes, hoping exhaustion will over take me and allow me the peace of a dreamless sleep.

Like I could get that lucky.

--

A/N: Thank you for waiting so patiently for this update!! I'm working on a few things right now, so don't hate me!! This might not get updated every day like my chapter stories usually do, but you'll get SOMETHING every couple days. Promise. XO, Kinsey


	6. Chapter 6 Author's Note

Okay, I know you guys are peeved that this isn't a REAL update, and I'M SORRY! But! Good news! The lovely and talented Laura (mrslee) and I are trading services. I'm writing (with Sam's assistance) smut for her, and she's writing case file for me. _**So,**_ I'm taking a little artistic license with this story and I'm making adjustments to chapter one, as far as why they came to Montana. Also, there will be a scene coming up where Dana briefs them on the case. ALSO! If any of you are familiar with Jackson, Montana, I'm making it a little bigger and more touristy. It's still going to be _tiny_ compared to NYC, but there might actually be a restraint! Also! You'll be excited to know that I've figured out when the first REAL SMUT is going to go down. Or at least how. Still not for awhile, but lots of sexual tension until then. So! Homework! Go re-read chapter one – at least the part with Starr in Cragen's office. New chapter will be up soon, I PROMISE. Any questions, comments, concerns about life – lemme know! XO, Kinsey


	7. Chapter 7

A/N: I'm so glad y'all aren't threatening bodily harm for the lack of real smut (not to mention updates) and all the teasing! But you know it's going to happen – they have a kid! Wouldn't it be funny if I made it like she was the immaculate conception? Evil author laugh Kidding! Sam would dump my lifeless body in the Hudson. That's how those Jersey girls are, you know.

Disclaimer: Only my overactive imagination is mine!

POV: Elliot

--

I should have known it wouldn't be that easy. That _she_ wouldn't be that easy. And really, as much as it pains me (_truly. pains __me_) to admit, she's right to push me away. Sex isn't going to solve our problems. We really need to work on rebuilding our relationship – our partnership first, our friendship second, and… whatever that kiss was… we'll have to work on that later. But we _will_ work on it.

I fold my arms behind my head and close my eyes to sleep, resolving to build everything I shared with my best friend – and at the very least get her to kiss me again.

--

Sometime later, I wake with a start, feeling someone watching me. I glance up to find Olivia standing next to the bed, a fearful expression on her face.

"Liv, what's wrong?" I ask.

"Nothing. Nevermind. This is stupid," she mutters, turning on her heel to leave. I reach out and grab her wrist, effectively stopping her retreat.

"Just tell me," I say softly. "You used to tell me everything."

"Yeah, well," she shrugs a shoulder as if that should explain everything.

"Yeah, well, what? What's the matter, Liv?"

"I hate new places," she admits.

"Why?" I question stupidly, never stopping to think that brass-balls Benson might ever actually get scared of anything.

She shrugs again and shifts nervously from foot to foot. "New noises. You'd think," she pauses and laughs like she finds what she's saying completely ridiculous. "With my mom and everything… I wouldn't be this… scared little girl," she admits, and I can tell she's holding back tears. "But I _hate_ sleeping in a new place. Motels even freak me out!" she does this half-laugh, half-choked cry thing that shatters my heart. I hold back the covers and she gasps.

"Relax, Liv. I've got boxers on," I smile. "Get in."

"Are you sure?" she asks tentatively.

"Olivia, get in the bed." She walks around to the other side and pulls back the covers. "What's wrong with this side?" I ask.

"You're there," she shrugs.

"Worried?" I ask.

"Only about my own self-control," she mutters dryly.

"C'mon, Liv. Let me hold you. Totally harmless, clothes on, and I promise I not to try to make your every fantasy come true," I grin.

"Gee. Thanks, Elliot."

I laugh and pull her into my arms once she slides between the soft sheets. "No problem."

She settles in, squirming around for a little bit, making herself a warm little next in my bed, not to mention settling her ass right against my crotch. Christ. Does she do this on purpose?! I resolve to man up and hold back . I promised her no funny business, and I'm going to keep that promise even if it means I have to remember the batting average of every player the Yanks ever recruited to keep myself calm.

Somewhere along the 1968 roster between Mickey Mantle and Bobby Cox, I can feel Olivia's fingers drifting softly over my arms.

"You still awake?" I ask.

"Yeah," she replies. "But I feel lots better. Thank you."

"Anytime. You want to talk?"

"'Bout what?" she replies absently.

"Whatever," I shrug.

She sighs heavily. "Well, I mean, if we're going to work on this case… maybe we should talk about… everything."

"Of course. I should have known you'd want to talk about girl crap," I tease her dryly.

She shoves an elbow back into my ribs with a giggle. "Jerk," she pouts.

"It's been a long time since I heard that giggle. I miss it," I say softly.

"Oh shut up, El. I laugh all the time."

"Not like that. You have a different laugh sometimes. A more… genuine one." She elbows me in the ribs again. "What the hell was that for?!" I ask, rubbing the affected area.

"For calling me fake."

"What?! I said I miss your laugh!"

"It's more genuine," she mocks in a terrible impression of me.

"Is that your impression of me?" I scoff.

"Mhm," she responds smugly.

"Really? Who else can you do?" I tease.

"Hmmm… Munch in conspiracy theory mode, Cragen talking around a mouthful of red vines, oh and I do you in interrogation _really well_." The words _do you in interrogation_ were bouncing off the walls of my brain.

"I'd love to see you _do me_ in interrogation sometime," I tease.

"That's not what I – shut up," she grins, flustered at first the noticing my teasing smirk.

"Shut up? Oh I'll shut you up all right," and then I turn on her, flipping her on her back and proceeding to tickle the hell out of her. She starts laughing that great giggle until she's gasping for breath.

"Stop! Stop!"

"Beg me! Beg for mercy!" I tease.

"Please! I'll do anything," she gasps, tears of laughter streaming down her cheeks. She's pinned beneath me, wriggling to get away and I don't know what happens, but some force possesses me to kiss her. And just like the kiss in her bedroom, it nearly knocks me unconscious.

Suddenly, she stops fighting me and threads her fingers into my hair, giving a sharp little tug, which drags me back to my senses.

"Sorry," I say. "I promised."

"Eh, a little making out never hurt anyone," she reneged.

"But you said…"

"El, for tonight, why don't you just forget about me and my bright ideas," she requests.

"Just for tonight?" I ask.

"We'll see," she replies, bringing my mouth back down to hers.

Remembering she had said 'make out' not 'screw each other stupid,' I work to keep myself under control. My hands, however, have apparently either lost contact with my brain or developed a mind of their own, because the next thing I know, one of them is sneaking to the hem of Olivia's long sleepshirt and pushing it up above her silky thighs. My hand encounters bare flesh where my brain had been expecting to find cotton panties and I think my head may explode. "Liv," I groan, yanking my hand back like it had been burned. Before it can get too far, however, she pushes it back to where it had been.

"Don't. Stop. Touching." she commands.

"Liv," I start.

"Elliot, stop arguing. You could give a girl self esteem problems," she grinds out, pushing herself into my hand. I glance down to where I can feel the heat from her literally burning my flesh. Smooth, perfect skin, a sexy brazillian wax, and my lucky hand right in the middle of it all. Literally. I push two fingers inside her, my thumb stopping to flick her clit while I pump my fingers in a gentle motion, my tongue tangling with hers the whole time. This has become more than an out of body experience. I'm firmly convinced I'm dead and this is Heaven. All those chats with Father Denis have really paid off.

Speaking of firm, the sweet detective has my boys in a tender grip I haven't seen this side of Cinemax at 2am.

"Olivia," I groan.

"What?" she groans back at me as I swipe at her wetness. She arches her back, pushing herself at me, kissing me so hard I think my lungs are going to explode from lack of oxygen.

"Liv," I say her name again, somehow managing to rip my mouth away from hers. "We have to stop. I don't want to, believe me, but you said it yourself. Professional."

"I know," she looks at me, her eyes glazed over and her lips wet from our kissing. She looks like a sex-starved harlot. I love it. "But Elliot?" she asks.

"Yes?"

"Could you make me come first?" she asks, her voice laced with honey and dripping with sex. At that moment, I couldn't have NOT made her come. Couldn't have walked away if I'd wanted to.

"Of course," I answered, resuming kissing her, my hand busily working away on her sex. I can tell she's close by the easy way my fingers are sliding through her, my middle finger flicking hungrily over her clit. Elsewhere, our tongues are dueling for control. Control that I'm losing because between her wet grip on my fingers and her tight grip on my cock, I can't think to save my fucking life. "You first," I grunt when I feel like I'm about to explode. I pinch her clit gently and that's all it takes to have her coming apart in my arms. As soon as that happens, I'm thrown into the middle of my own climax, never wanting the assault on my senses to stop. She brings her fingers to her mouth and gently sucks them off, which, had I not just experienced one of the most explosive climaxes of my life, might have me coming again.

"You okay?" I ask.

"Great," she replies with a gentle smile. "I think I can sleep now," she says, turning back into my embrace and snuggling against me.

Well. That makes one of us.

--

A/N: Well? Hot? It's been hard for me to update this, simply because real life has been so freakin' busy, and I've been having so many plot bunnies attack me for other stuff I want to write. So, question for you: I'm going to start writing for "Bones," (stop panicking, that doesn't mean I'm not going to be writing SVU, it'll just be both. Promise!) – question is – how many of you would read that stuff as well? I know it's hard to get into a fic if you don't watch the show (and if you don't watch Bones, why the hell not? David Boreanaz is totally worth your time. Promise!) so I'm wondering who all watches that and also watches SVU. Let me know! XO, Kinsey


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